


Slytherin Fairy Godmother

by diamonddaydream



Series: Dramione Matrimony Series [2]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Adult Hermione Granger, Aged-Up Character(s), Cinderella Elements, Dress Up, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Fairy Godparents, Family, Family Dynamics, Good Draco Malfoy, Implied Sexual Content, Jealousy, Kissing, Malfoy Manor, Married Couple, Married Life, Minor Lucius Malfoy/Narcissa Black Malfoy, Motherhood, One Shot, Parenthood, Party, Post-Hogwarts, Pregnancy, Redeemed Draco Malfoy, Romantic Draco Malfoy, Romantic Fluff, Scents & Smells, Slytherin, Sweet, True Love
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-31
Updated: 2019-12-31
Packaged: 2021-02-27 10:20:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,861
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22045504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/diamonddaydream/pseuds/diamonddaydream
Summary: Hermione Granger-Malfoy dreads going to Lucius Malfoy's latest party. She is exhausted, pregnant, and not interested in finally meeting Draco's childhood ex-fiancee, Astoria Greengrass. The night gets worse and worse, until an unlikely fairy godmother brings the Dramione fluff. A moment set between my longer works "The Oblivious Ones" and "Always Something," or reads fine on its own.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Series: Dramione Matrimony Series [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1999954
Comments: 5
Kudos: 423





	Slytherin Fairy Godmother

Hermione Granger-Malfoy lay on the sofa with her head in her husband’s lap, his fingers combing through her hair while she finished crying against his thigh. In her hands was the picture book her one-year-old son, little Pollux, had brought to her. The boy wouldn’t let her turn the pages for him, but he wouldn’t let her put it down either.

“He’s toying with us again,” she said to Draco.

He winced. “I know, love. I’m so sorry.”

They were not talking about their son. The person playing with them was Draco’s father, Lucius Malfoy. He was now a free man. Disgraced, deposed, diminished, but free. The Death Eater reconciliation hearings saw him sent to serve the last of his sentence under house arrest, in his own manor, in his own manner.

When he arrived home, his wife was waiting but it was no coincidence that Draco and his little family had moved on to London. Still, as Narcissa had predicted, the appearance of little Pollux as the new Malfoy heir -- the mix-blood child mothered by a war hero -- had signalled that the entire Malfoy family was reformed, redeemed. A newspaper photo of Lucius Malfoy and his daughter-in-law leaving the Ministry of Magic arm in arm on the day he was released from state custody had become the image of forgiveness, humanity, and tolerance within wizarding Britain.

Isn’t that lovely?

That was Hermione and her in-laws in public. In private, things were different.

Pollux took the book out of his mother’s hands and threw it. It might have been magic that kept it from striking Draco’s head, sending the book flying safely over the back of the sofa instead. “Father lost most of his toys in the war,” Draco continued to apologize. “He’s got little else to play with besides us.” 

Pollux toddled off and returned with a new book, one so big he could hardly lift it, one from his parents’ shelves. Its pages caught on the sofa cushions as he turned them, nearly tearing each time, spared by more magic. 

“I am, however, convinced Father is not dangerous anymore,” Draco went on. “Slightly mad, yes. Or at least, in the throes of an identity crisis.”

Hermione tried to take comfort in his words, but there was more to be found in the sensation of Draco’s fingers moving against her hair and scalp -- stimulating and soothing at the same time -- a complicated satisfaction, enough. 

What existed between herself and Draco had always been complex and overwhelming, even back in the days when all it had been was bad. The strength of their connection was burgeoning even in Flourish and Blotts’s bookstore, on the day she’d first met his father, when Lucius had sneered down at her, drawling, “Draco’s told me ALL about you.” Beautiful, twisted twelve-year-old Draco -- thanks to Lucius, he had it all flipped and wrong at the time, hate for love, but even then...

She closed her eyes and turned her face away from his damp trouser leg. No more tears were coming but her feeling of unease continued to mount. She and Draco were expected at a party at the manor in just a few hours and the threat of the evening actually being an elaborate game of Lucius’s creation wasn’t the only reason Hermione had burst into tears at the thought of going.

Thanks to a fateful, botched contraception charm, she had become pregnant with Pollux a few months into their marriage. From there, they’d decided to do all of their child-rearing at once, having a second baby soon after, “Since our lives are ruined for now anyway,” she’d laughed as she settled onto her husband, sliding his wand out of his grip before he could cast any more spells. 

It meant that she was, at this moment, the mother of a one-year-old and five months away from the arrival of her next child expected shortly before Pollux’s second birthday. It was a risky, controversial choice that she wasn’t ready to discuss with anyone but Draco, the medi-witch monitoring her health, and her own parents. 

But since Ann and Tim Granger knew about it, Narcissa and Lucius had to be told too, in the interest of fairness, and the odds of the news not slipping out at the party when Lucius was in full show-off form were scant. Besides, someone might notice without being told. Hermione wasn’t constantly nauseated anymore, but she felt exhausted and dull, and her figure was at the stage where she was not yet looking pregnant, merely lumpy and lost in ill-fitting clothing.

Draco gathered her out of his lap and into his arms, lifting her close enough to kiss her cheeks, still red from crying. “We don’t have to go, Granger. We don’t even need to explain why. He’s done nothing to deserve us there.”

She responded the way she always did. “Family life isn't just about what people deserve.” With that, she kissed him, pulled herself out of his embrace, trudged upstairs to dress for the party. 

She wore a loose, thin black satin shift that fell from her shoulders to her knees overlaid with translucent black georgette. When she'd worn it before, it felt luxurious. She chose it tonight because she hoped the loose cut would elegantly obscure her abdomen. But standing in front of the mirror now, it looked to her like Dementors' robes. She laughed bitterly at her reflection, and tied her hair up to look less demented. She picked at her jewelry box, knowing whatever necklace she chose would end up in Pollux's mouth and wouldn't be worth the trouble and the threat of any old lingering curses ending up in her toddler. She resolved to go dressed exactly as she was anyway. There was more than one way to let Lucius know she didn’t want to be there.

“Who else is coming?” she asked Draco as they joined hands at the bottom of the stairs, preparing to side-along apparate themselves and Pollux to the manor. Draco looked sleek and tall and composed as always, no matter how many children he had.

He shrugged. “I dunno. Maybe there are some distant Black family cousins still willing to be seen with him. Maybe someone’s come over from the continent. One thing’s for certain. It won’t be a big gathering. Not anymore.”

But it was a big party. Malfoy Manor hadn’t been so full of people since it was raided after the war and crawling with Arthur Weasley and the Aurors. There were no Aurors here tonight, no Weasleys, but it seemed that all of the families of Draco’s old school friends were there. The place was gleaming with emerald green taffeta, and across the balustrades of the grand staircase were strung the banners of all four of the Hogwarts houses, the one marked with the Slytherin emblem three times larger than the others.

“What in the world…” Draco seemed surprised, but not as annoyed by it, not as alarmed by it as Hermione would have liked.

Draco turned from the banners to Hermione, both of his eyebrows raised. 

“Slytherin reunion?” she asked. 

They observed each other expectantly. He was waiting for her to demand that they leave while she was waiting for him to renew his offer to flee without an explanation. Both of them would have left if either of them insisted on it quickly enough. But neither of them spoke and they were still standing on the rug, when Narcissa floated over to them, wrestling little Poll away from his father, kissing the boy into a fit of giggles before handing him off to the young witches hired to babysit the party goers’ children.

“Isn’t it lovely?” Hermione's mother-in-law beamed. “All the houses are doing it. That’s what I’m told. Everyone’s getting what’s left of the old school houses together again for one last hurrah before they start re-sorting Hogwarts students at the beginning of every year. Think of it, little Pollux could end up in a different house every year. Oh I know, Hermione, it’s meant to make us less tribal and more sympathetic to one another. I’m sure they mean well. Had the two of you heard of it already?”

They had. In fact, Hermione hadn’t merely heard about the House Re-sorting Strategy, she’d provided the Hogwarts’ board of governors a letter supporting it. Her letter was read into the record at the meeting where they ratified it. And now, here she was at her in-laws’ party, which was turning out to be the Slytherin version of a passive aggressive protest against re-sorting. 

She took Draco’s hand and made the slightest tug toward the door.

“But, of course,” Narcissa said, sliding her hand into the crook of Draco’s other arm just as Hermione would have led him away, “your father is skeptical. He reckons they could have re-sorted him at school every year -- every month, even -- and the old hat would’ve croaked out Slytherin each time.” She laughed, tugging harder, leading her son toward the crowd of guests drinking wine and eating canapes in the grand hall.

Draco let Hermione’s hand slip out of his, looking back over his shoulder at her as his mother dragged him forward. “I like re-sorting fine, Mother. It’s for the best,” he said, still looking back at his wife as she tried to hang back, resisting the gravity of the crowd. “I never would have admitted it at the time, but it might have been just what I needed -- a year or two to cool off in Hufflepuff while I was at school.”

Hermione scoffed under her breath. “Oh yes, Hufflepuff life is easy. Just ask Tonks, or Cedric Dig -- “

“Hermione, my darling girl!” Lucius had glided down the stairs to welcome her further into this vipers’ nest. “Here she is, the golden light of the new Malfoy family, glowing at last in the midst of my oldest, dearest friends. My heart is full.”

He paused, turning to remount the stairs, moving to announce her presence to the entire gathering when Narcissa caught his hand and pulled him back down to their level. “By the stars, Lucius, don’t show her up. You know Hermione is -- rather delicate, at this moment.”

“I do apologize,” Lucius drawled. “I forget myself in my enthusiasm to celebrate your presence here with us, Hermione. How could a proud father resist, especially when you come here tonight looking so,” he eyed her black dress, reading the message she had meant to send him with it, “so radiant and full of life?”

Draco stepped between them. “Father.”

“Draco.”

“Oi, Malfoy!” someone called, causing all four of them to look. It was Gregory Goyle, advancing at the head of a group of boys -- now men -- from their school days: Nott, Zabini, Pike. Hermione shrunk back, as she had always done at the sight of them. Her smile collapsed as they roughed Draco out of her grasp, grabbing at him and slapping his back, with every touch making his body less hers.

“Look at you, another old married man. Not many of us left single,” Zabini said, flexing his enduring status as a player.

“Not many of us not fathers yet, for that matter,” Nott added, glancing through the crowd to his new wife. Perhaps he was concealing his own news.

Draco stood blushing, wondering, no doubt, what any of them would say if they knew he was already expecting his second child.

“Tell them if you want,” Hermione whispered, though he had been pulled too far from her to hear. She was turning to leave them. Maybe she could find little Mrs. Goyle and they could sit and talk about babies without anyone arching an eyebrow at them. But she couldn’t leave Draco in the crowd quite yet, and she walked away slowly, curious in spite of herself to overhear a little more of what the grown schoolboys would say to each other.

Not surprisingly, Zabini was not interested in talking about babies. “There aren’t many decent women our age left unattached either,” he ploughed on. “But leave it to sly old Lucius to find a stunner for us tonight. Look there -- there, Malfoy, you’ll like this. All that glossy dark hair, in the white dress, with the legs -- wait ‘til she turns around and tell me if you recognize her. Though based on how the two of you used to get on, I can’t imagine you’d forget.” 

Hermione stopped pretending to walk away, spinning around, rising to her tiptoes to see the woman all of them were watching.

“What are you on about, Zabini? I’m hardly here to meet -- “ Draco hadn’t finished before the woman in question turned, revealing her face. She was beautiful, flawless, thin and perfectly proportioned, porcelain skin and large dark eyes set off with red lipstick. Hermione heard her husband speak her name. “Astoria Greengrass.”

“All grown up,” Nott finished. “Your little Tori Greengrass, back from France a few years too late for old Draco.”

He coughed. “Looks like she turned out great. So how did she end up here?”

“How could she not come? Your families were close once, weren’t you?” Nott pressed.

“Yeah, Malfoy,” Goyle was saying. “You were s’pposed to marry her after school was finished. That’s how come back in fifth year she let you take her and -- “

“Shut it, Goyle,” Draco cut him off, swearing as the rest laughed. He glanced over his shoulder, cheeks flushed red. Hermione watched, hidden from his view behind one of the columns holding up the vaulted ceiling. Was he looking for her now? “Have some manners,” he scolded the other men.

Astoria’s attention was drawn to the noise of their laughter, the sickening pull of their leering. She was watching the boys now, blinking her dark feathery lashes. As something of a host at this party, there was nothing for Draco to do but raise a hand to wave at her. Her mouth curved into a smile and she nodded in return.

“Thanks so much for this awkwardness, kiddies,” Draco smirked and slapped Zabini far too hard on the back as he stepped away. “Please excuse me.”

“Good on ya, Malfoy,” Zabini called after Draco as he made his way toward Astoria. “Gracious young lord of the manor, off to make sure she knows she’s always welcome here.”

Hermione had left the shelter of the column, and was following Draco through the crowd when a wall of shining brocade materialized in front of her. “How ARE you, Hermione?” Lucius implored, as if they were speaking privately. “It’s so good of you to come even when you’re clearly worn down to almost nothing. Perhaps you should take your leave from your work early this time around. Rest at home until the next one is ready. Oh dear, I’ve overstepped. Typical in-law faux pas. Forgive me. All I mean to ask is, are you quite alright?”

Bringing up the topic of her pregnancy, however coyly, in a crowded room was thoughtless and inappropriate. But he did seem as if he was in earnest. He looked just enough like Draco when he spoke to her with kindness that she found herself touched in spite of herself.

“It’s never easy, being this way,” she said, smiling thinly. “But it’s nothing out of the ordinary. No need to worry for me, Lucius.”

He smiled at her, following her stare. He watched with her as his son extended a hand to Astoria, his smile blossoming as Astoria reached past Draco’s hand to draw him into a one-armed hug. As it often was these days, Lucius’s face was wistful, as if he was looking back at more of the treasure he’d lost in the war. 

“Did you know Astoria at school?” he asked Hermione.

“No.”

“Well, it’s all ancient history. But still, you ought to be properly introduced,” he said.

Music struck up from the ballroom, loud and live, inviting the guests inside to dance. Conversation became more difficult over the noise, and across the room, Astoria bent her arm over Draco’s shoulder as she spoke with her lips against his ear to keep from having to shout. If she’d been in France since the war, did she even know he was married? Had any of these bizarre, dangerous people told her, or was it understood between them that it would be more fun if they withheld the news?

Whatever she’d spoken into his ear, Draco laughed for her, nodding and looking into his drink -- the pungent champagne he had taken in Hermione’s place when she was offered it.

All at once, Narcissa was on Hermione’s arm. “Yes, Lucius, let’s introduce our girl to Miss Greengrass,” she was saying. “But first…” She made a slight grimace, pressing one fingertip against Hermione’s shoulder. There on the black fabric, now visible in the bright light of the manor’s grand hall, was a smear of something yellowy-white -- mucky traces of the cookie Pollux had been eating before they’d left home. He was frightened of disapparation and had reached out for her just as they’d started to twist and squeeze. He must have had some of the wet cookie still smeared on his palm when he caught the front of her dress.

Narcissa led her toward the powder room. A quick, discrete Scourgify spell and it would all be gone. “Or,” Narcissa said, “you could come with me. I know you must not feel particularly beautiful right now, darling, but you are lovely as ever. No matter what’s springing to life along your waistline, your neck and shoulders are sublime and ought to be flaunted, especially in the face of Draco’s former fiancée.”

She stiffened. “I’ve never heard him call her that.”

Narcissa lowered her chin as she pursed her mouth into a wicked smile. “See that he never does.”

With hardly a sound at all, Narcissa disapparated herself and her daughter-in-law into an upstairs bedroom, the manor’s master bedroom suite. “Quick, darling, change into this. It’s that mauve colour you like and the cut is less like -- less wraithish than that dirty frock you’ve got on. You can leave your hair the way it is but you will need something to draw the eye to your throat. This will suit perfectly.”

Hermione flinched at the sight of a beautiful necklace, settings of glittering platinum fastened around a spray of tiny diamonds and three spectacular opals. “No need to fear, my darling,” Narcissa said. “Not all opals are cursed. Most of them, yes, but not these ones. I would know.” She stepped behind her, fastening the chain around Hermione’s neck. Narcissa turned her by her shoulders so she could inspect the necklace from the front. “Yes, now there’s our Madam Malfoy.”

Narcissa gestured again at the gown spread out and waiting on the bed. Hermione nodded in submission, her chin quivering, about to be overcome by the tears that were never far from the surface. 

Narcissa snatched Hermione’s hand. “My golden girl, no more of this. You are the most astounding woman here. Wipe your face, don your robe, and show them all.” With that she sprang forward to kiss Hermione’s cheek before she disapparated, back to her guests.

That was it, just like a scene from the Muggle Cinderella fairy tale Narcissa had never heard, the one with the fairy godmother. Hermione stood in her parents-in-law’s bedroom, looking at the beautiful ethereal gown Narcissa had prepared for her. She fingered the opals at her throat and swallowed hard against another wave of tears. She would put the gown on and appear at the top of the stairs, as if she’d been kept back, waiting for the glorious climax of the evening when she would make this opulent entrance during the first big Malfoy party of her marriage.

It would be something like the Yule Ball all over again. Draco’s mates from school would turn their oafish ogling at her. Lucius would receive the awe and admiration he craved. Goyle’s little wife might stand a bit taller at the sight of a young mother not unlike herself commanding such recognition. And Draco might step back from the breathtaking future he could have had with Astoria Greengrass, if everything hadn’t gone so wrong for his family. He could settle gratefully back into his consolation life, the one he had with Hermione Granger.

She let her black dress fall to pool around her feet and stepped into the new one. Threads slid through the seams and darts as it altered itself around her, enchanted to tailor itself to fit. She stood in front of Narcissa’s glass and checked her reflection, lifting her skirt slightly to see if she was somehow wearing glass slippers now. No luck. But the rest was perfect -- perfectly what the Malfoys wanted her to be, ever a showpiece for their new righteousness, no matter how much her parents-in-law claimed to love her for herself.

There was only one way to make the entrance Narcissa wanted. To show her status, Hermione ought to apparate to the top of the staircase, appearing with the loudest crack she could muster. There were only four people the haunted old manor would permit to apparate within its walls: the house’s rightful master, his fully grown heir, and their wives. She sighed but gripped her wand and turned on the spot.

Only, instead of appearing at the head of the stairs in the grand hall, she found herself in another bedroom, one she had come to know extremely well in the early days of her marriage, when Narcissa and Lucius were still incarcerated and she and Draco were waiting here delightfully alone for Pollux to be born. She was in Draco’s old bedroom. She would have known it even in pitch dark, with her eyes closed from the smell of it alone. There was no need for that kind of discernment. Throughout the room, the house had lit its lanterns, and a fire burned on the hearth. She didn’t know if the house had sent her here or whether it was her own magic. Apparation, after all, is all about intention and desire. And of all the places in Malfoy Manor, this room was where she most wanted to be. If only she wasn't here alone.

“Hermione!”

It was Draco, twisting out of his apparation and striding across the room, reaching for her. “I should have known this is where you'd've gone. But why didn't you wait for me? I couldn’t find you anywhere downstairs. And what happened to your dress? Was there an accident? Why did you change?”

He had come. He wasn’t standing on the marble floor at the base of the stairs, nose to nose with his former fiancee, about to be interrupted when his wife appeared. He was here, frantically looking for her, content with the way she’d dressed herself at home, aware that nothing was right here tonight, and worried she was not alright either.

If she spoke an answer to any of his questions, she would be crying again. She knew it. So she kissed him instead, not on his cheek or his forehead, but on his mouth, rising onto her toes, her mouth open and greedy, driven with a passion to possess him that she hadn't felt in the months since the new baby had started.

Two and a half years into their marriage and Draco had never failed to respond immediately and hungrily when she took to him like this. He kissed her, taking her in, deeply, breathless, his arms crushing her to himself. He palmed the back of her head and pulled her closer. With her arms still locked around his waist, she stepped backward, toward the bed. He knew what it meant and rushed toward it, falling with her onto the mattress, raising his arm to control the impact of their landing.

From on top of her, he smirked, nudging her hair out of her face with the end of his nose. “I like the dress but it smells like my mother’s wardrobe. It has to go -- for now.”

“What about the Madam Malfoy opals?” she breathed against his chest.

He trailed his finger from her chin to the base of her throat, over and around the smooth, cold gems on her silky, warm skin. He growled a reply. “Those had better stay.”

They hadn’t been together in this bed since before Pollux was born. Instead of those long nights when they were young and newly married and still fighting their bodies for what they wanted, experience and the benefits of the current pregnancy advanced them quickly and expertly to what they needed to take and to give to each other. It didn’t take long, but even so, they were still tangled and breathless, stunned with their own satisfaction, when Narcissa rattled the door, surprised to find it sealed shut from the inside.

“Hermione?”

“I’m here, Mother,” she answered. “Draco too. We’ll be right down.”

She laughed. “Excellent. No hurry.”

“So,” Hermione said, planting her chin against him, digging it just shy of painfully between his ribs. “How did you find Astoria?”

He scoffed. “Embarrassed by Zabini’s leering, that’s how I found her. Not hard to believe a git like that is still single, out and about treating women that way.”

Hermione lifted her chin. “Is she alright?”

He rubbed his palm up and down the length of her back, his fingertips in the groove of her spine. “Yes, I think so. I smoothed it over as best I could for someone who doesn’t know how to talk about anything but our spectral memory refraction research and my deeply held convictions about toddler sleep habits.”

She sniffed a laugh.

He exaggerated a sigh. “I’m a boring old man, my darling.”

She raked her fingers through his hair. “No, you’re perfect.”

“Among other boring old men, yes I probably am.”

She nipped at his collar bone. “But I wasn’t asking about you. How is Astoria, apart from being mistreated at your father's horrendous party?”

He shifted beneath her. “She’s alright, I guess, though not what I want to be thinking about right now.”

Hermione curled her finger into the patch of fair hair at the centre of his chest. “She certainly looks lovely. You’ve always liked brunettes.”

He wrinkled his nose. “I like a brunette -- singular. And not one who smells like chocolate scented tobacco. Can you believe that? Astoria Greengrass picked up smoking cigarettes on the continent.”

“No,” Hermione laughed. “Why would she do that?”

Draco rolled toward her again. “None of my business…”

________________

When Hermione did make her grand, official entrance at the Malfoys’ Slytherin reunion party, it was on the arm of her husband. They appeared at the top of the stairs, not too terribly conspicuous with their apparation, but visibly enough that Narcissa and Lucius could be sure that everyone had noticed. As everyone watched, Draco used his wand to adjust the size of the Hogwarts house banners until they were all the same. With this done, they descended and moved into the ballroom to take their place on the dance floor. They were joined by most everyone, even Zabini who had somehow convinced Astoria to be his partner. Whatever they might have smelled like, they did look splendid together.

“Mother wished for one more thing,” Draco said.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Oh no…”

“Yes, she’s hasn't yet got over the fact that she was still serving her sentence and missed our wedding. “

Hermione scoffed, laughing. “Well, that's hardly our fault.”

“Yes, well,” he said, extending his arm to spin her around. “She is hoping to recreate a little of what she missed here tonight, with everyone she knows watching us.”

She was beaming now. “Oh, is that what's in all of this for her tonight?” Hermione searched the crowd for Narcissa's face. There she was, standing arm in arm with Lucius, dabbing her eyes, watching her son waltzing the family she and Lucius had once mishandled almost to the point of extinction into a bright future. "Isn't she lovely?" she said.

Draco nodded, stooping, drawing his wife closer to rest his forehead against hers. "We're not prepared to repeat the ceremony, but there is one thing from the wedding we can recreate for her." 

Hermione linked her hands around his neck. "Draco Malfoy, you're looking for an excuse to kiss me while all these people are watching."

"It's for my mother," he said.

"Of course it is. You're such a dutiful son."

"I am."

“Oh, go on then,” she said. “Do it as soon as you're sure your mother is looking at us.”

He smirked. “When has she stopped looking at us? You -- you stop looking at her.”

“I’m not.”

“Look at me instead. Look at me like I’m charming. Like I’m romancing you. Like you are madly in love with me.”

She was the one smirking now. "What does that look like?"

He held her tightly by the waist, twirling both of them in a circle in time with the swelling of the music. "It looks like this," he said, as he bent his neck and kissed her.


End file.
